


A Journey to Knighthood

by NoChildren



Series: A Path of Violence and Wind [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brothels, Confusion, Dark Humor, Deflowering Moriarty, Drama, I need better tags, I'm making this more difficult than I need to., Knights - Freeform, Like tons of sex, M/M, Missionary Position, Secrets, This is going to be a long one, Too much Game of Thrones, Torture, Violence, War, We're using everyone, whores
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-09
Updated: 2013-08-22
Packaged: 2017-12-18 06:20:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NoChildren/pseuds/NoChildren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>James Moriarty, Master of Coin under King Mycroft leaves one night to quench his lust. In his return, he gains a knight, a new lifestyle change, a bed partner, misery, violence, and more shame than he knows what to do with.</p><p>Gregory Lestrade was once a minor lording. Now he is the Captain of the King's guards. It doesn't end there. King Mycroft has plans for the knight, big plans that give Ser Gregory much grief. Every man has his secrets, Gregory Lestrade is filled to the brim with them.</p><p>John Watson was never a man of much honor. In his younger days, he worked at an armory as a blacksmith. He healed knights through their armor and swords. Though, in time he was wounded in the War of Years. His working arm was wounded with an arrow and he was forced to become a map charter. Sherlock Holmes has a need for a map charter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Chill of an Empty Bed

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT: Each chapter will have a different POV. 
> 
> My first writing on this beautiful place. I am my own Alpha, Beta, Gamma, whatever. Any mistakes feel free to point out. 
> 
> At the moment, I'm reading Game of Thrones. I'm on book two and I see Littlefnger and Tyrion coming together to making a beautiful Moriarty. The Hound is Sebastian of course. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy.
> 
> EDIT: Here is a playlist that I listen to that will go along with the fanfic. Please enjoy. http://grooveshark.com/#!/playlist/A+Journey+To+Knighthood/88445039

James

 

The darkness swept over the city of Painesaire and men rushed to the beds of their wives or just warm beds offered by women who were much easier to please. The sweet smell of spring was in the air and the cool night sent the scents of bread and wine among the streets. At night, the vendors began to pack and the musicians went to their respectable homes or to host at parties held by the rich. The guards and knights of the City began their patrol and peace overcame the sounds of squealing and drunkards.

James Moriarty was a man new to the city. He had been given a seat at council due to his skill with money and for collecting debts. He was given the title of lord and wealth that stacked high above his own. King Mycroft had found his company appeasing for the small man had wit and could hold his wine as well as any other man who was twice his height. The origin of Jim’s birth had been a mockery, born in the Celtic lands and was rumored to have been a farmer’s son. Though, the stories fell of deft ears, for Moriarty did not pay mind to the peasants. Gold and silver had made him forget of his morality, though his wit had kept him from falling into damnation.

So on this night, as Moriarty slept in his bed alone, he only thought of how cold the room was. Yes, a servant had kindled a fire in the quarters, but that was not enough, not nearly. He needed a different kind of warmth, one that could surround him and engulf him completely. One of a woman, something he was not particularly skilled with. And so, Moriarty pulled on his breeches and tied up the back of his plain green tunic, a deep green that contrasted with the darkness of his face. He would have to be on the watch for Sherlock and his spies. It seems as though the two had gotten off fairly well, but beneath appearances, the two were battling. The coarse pants he wore were plain, for he did not wish to be recognized while on his hunt for a warm hole to place his cock. The knights took no attention, which was to be expected. He paid them enough as it is.

The dirt and stone roads of the town were filthy from the day’s doings. The drunken men had already passed the hour of drinking and were more for the hour of sleeping. Bodies of the fat and jolly littered the streets and indecent sights were to behold the wanderer. In every ally, an act of passion was being committed and only wanton stares of want from the audience was punishment to the indecent display. James paid it no mind, only walking past without a second look.

Finally, he had reached where he had planned to go. Irene Adler’s high priced brothel. Only lords and those with gold could reach beyond the large decorated doors of the whorehouse. Pushing through, he saw the woman. Irene Adler was a woman of class, even in the business she owned. She herself barely worked with the men; instead she directed the women under her employment and took the silver from the gentlemen who were paying. James approached her, eyes staring her up and down as the woman did the same to him. She was lovely in a loose fitted pale pink dress, one of which invited any man to plunge their face into her bosom. She wore her cheeks a rose red and her hair in an ornate braid which was displayed in a bun. She had a playful smirk in seeing Jim so under dressed.

“Lord Moriarty, how good to finally see you. I have heard the city has treated you well.” Her soft lips moved and Jim watched in intrigue as her body seemed to move with her words.

“Well enough. You hear the stories, as foolish as they are. If I were a much crueler man, tongues would be hanging from my walls.” That made her laugh, and Jim only smirked along. He glanced at the house, noting the fine taste in the choice of decorations. It was mostly silk and cloth of fine rich makings. Men were making love in the rooms above, as was told by the loud moans and the squeals and cursings. A woman in red was singing with a wooden harp in her hand as the ladies of Irene sat on the laps of men.

 

Curiously, Irene stared along with him, “Did they not have whores on the farm where you were raised?” She questioned with an air of teasing.

“We did, but there we called them horses.” A joke of course. James would never fuck a horse.

Chucking, Irene led the lord up the stairs to where he would choose a woman to quench his desire.

“You have quite the selection, M’lady. A wide variety of every skin color and city of this map. Now which to pick is the question.” He marched up and down the row, eyeing the breast of each one, the eyes, the smile, the fairness of the skin, but stopped when Irene spoke.”

“If you don’t mind, my lord. I wish to pick for you.” She spoke as she tweaked a breast and cleaned the finishing of a job off a girl who entered the room. It was her job to keep her whores clean.

For whatever reason, Jim felt relief and quickly nodded. “I think that would be best. You have far too many treasures to choose.” The charm he held made some girls giggle, though most kept their fake smiles.

“Please, why don’t you go to room seven? Your treasure will be waiting for you there, M’lord.” She bowed and took the silver right out of Moriarty’s pocket before bidding him a smile of farewell.

Of course James was surprised when he entered the room. It had been empty, but there were noises of action in the area where one would wash themselves of their action. “I will wait for you, my dove.” James called to the person beyond the curtains to where the water was. He sat on the bed and took off his boots, lying back on the bed with his hands on his chest.

James was no virgin, but it had been since his last Name-Day since he had bedded. Money and thrones seemed to have gotten in the way.

He closed his eyes and then heard the rustling of sheets. Slowly his eyes opened and above him was a blonde haired…man. A man! What a cruel joke to play! Though before he could even speak, he was silenced with lips, with touches, with the musk he had never known he longed for. He was moved and taken and moved and rustled throughout the night. They ended up on the floor or against the wall multiple times. His eyes opening wide or closing. At times the blonde made a few soft noises, but other than that, he was almost silent.

At the end of night, or rather dawn. James was beyond ready to sleep. He was fulfilled and satisfied more than a man should be. No ounce of shame even came to mind as he slept, instead, he just rested in a dreamless sleep.

Light streaked across his eyes and James groaned, moving to turn, but his chest instead felt a warm clamminess of skin. He bolted up to find himself in the whorehouse still. He hadn’t thought he would sleep over and the thought of servants searching all about the castle for him amused James and so he laid back down. Then he remembered just who he fucked…and well...fucked him mostly. The blonde had his back to him, eyes closed in a tight line and Jim could take the moment to observe him. His hand reached over him, feeling down his chiseled body; one a knight might have. His skin was smooth and tanned, hard and firm and Jim couldn’t help but stare at the rather nice cock he had. It was well sized, in both thickness as well as length as he remembered the night before and it had a curve to it that made James beg for mercy. He was unshaved. Which was odd for a whorehouse, but it was perfect for this particular whore. It made him more of a man, and that made this all the more shameful.

He squirmed and turned away so their backs faced each other. The night before was one he couldn’t forget and didn’t want to forget. It had scratched something that had always been itching and finally he felt relief.

The King could wait. James needed his rest and he would return later in the day, maybe with a whore beside him.


	2. The Faithful Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gregory Lestrade appears before the King and has suddenly become a great importance to the City. He is tasked with a mission that the God's have seemed to plan, but Sherlock Holmes had delivered instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Greg is a pretty chilled out dude. He's like a knight and shit. And Greg is Greg. He'll always be the same.
> 
> Mycroft is not as he seems. Give it time, he must put on airs for his subjects, right?
> 
> So anyway, enjoy. I love getting...like Hits.. I refresh my page and cry in joy as I see how many hits I get. I'm lame.

 

 

Gregory

 

“My grace.” The silver haired knight fell to one knee, his armor clanking and groaning as he knelt. The armor was as pale as his very own hair. His dark brown eyes peeking from below his helm were perhaps the darkest thing he wore over the leather beneath the iron. He had been promoted recently as Mycroft had taken throne.

He had been the hand of the King for far too long and on the past King’s death, he rose above his heirs. Now the Holmes banner flew high, the owls were elegant as they were wise and it matched both brothers fairly well.

The symbol of the Lestrade household was a plain bear with a longsword behind it. The color of the house banner was a pale gray unlike the Holmes banner which was a blue owl on a pale yellow background.

Lestrade himself had been through the war in which their King was slain on the rocks beyond the council near the rough oceans of the lands of Manston. He was a king of which the people did not mind, but did not shed tears for when hearing of his end.

Mycroft, the voice of justice, rode his horse beside his brother and stormed the Hooper household where the daughter, Molly was taken hostage so Lord Hooper would not rebel again. Now she dwells the castle halls as a maiden and well loved by those around her. The girl herself was sweet and soft-spoken, much like Gregory’s own daughters.

Here at the castle on this day, he had a business with the new King whose own personal council was meeting soon as well.

“My grace...” He repeated again when the King did not notice him.

The ginger king was not dressed like a king; instead he was dressed as a common man of wealth with no jewelry other than his rings and the symbol of his house. The crown on his head was thin and the copper color reflected the red of the hair under it.

“Ah, yes. Ser Lestrade, how kind of you to finally welcome me to the throne.” He stood to approach the man on the floor, though his eyes were low at seeing the man on his knees.

“Please, stand. There is no need for bowing. I am only a king, not a god.” The ginger placed a hand on the others shoulder, a gesture of friendliness.

And so, Gregory struggled to his feet, his armor once again protesting in the action.

“How can I help you today? Is my guard doing well? How about the city? Are all content?”

“Yes, my grace. All is well and under control. I am here on a different matter entirely.” He walked with the other back to his throne. The throne was hardly anything special; it was a lovely chair with silks and furs on the seat and made from high quality leather. It was the only real expense that Mycroft Holmes allowed. All available money was set to the new Lord of Coin, a man called Moriarty. Greg briefly met him and the man was nice enough. Rumor was that he was some kind of farm boy. He didn’t have time to care about such things.

“The kingdom is at peace, my grace. It is not of the lower class I worry about, but rather the lords of the lands you conquered. You had left their lands barren and their maidens and sons now live in our castle and those of our allies. Do you not think they will rebel?” He asked as the other slowly sat himself down. Only in the time of standing there did he realize just how sore his legs were from his day’s work.

“I _know_  they won’t, Ser Lestrade.” He chuckled and looked about the room which was as large as a manor. The room was put to use for good; given to those who wish for education and knighthood. Boys trained inside and outside the castle while the ladies sat and learned such things they would need to for their lives as wives. Gregory spotted one of his daughters standing on a table and using her sewing tool as a sword. He glared at her from his place on the steps of the king. She stared back, wrinkled her nose and sat back on her stool.

Mycroft caught the look and smiled gently. “Your daughter?”

“Yes, my grace.” He answered while snapping his head back to Mycroft. “She’s only seven, you must forgive her manners. My wife had perished during the first year of war and Jocelyn was only three then. It was quite the tragedy…” He lied so easily to the king. A crime that was punishable by death.

Gregory Lestrade was not the eldest to the house of Lestrade, and so, he instead looked to a life of knighthood which was just as noble. He was wedded to Madelyn Sasdam. The Sasdam house was  a house not of great power, but of great beauty and was to said to be unfaithful and have no loyalty.

That was found true.

She had bore three sons, all being bastards of whom Gregory refused to keep, them all having no traits recognizable of his own. Instead they matched the knight whom taught children the sword. In the end, he had two daughters that had his features of brown hair and thin lips.

He took them and left. Something shameful and craven that men would never do, but he could never kill the woman. No, he could never kill someone he still loved. Jocelyn may have been three when they left, but Caroline was seven and remembered the night very well. She understood, but that still didn’t stop her from crying time to time. Madelyn had never fought for the girls; she had even changed her name so no one could drag them back to her, and so Gregory said she died.

The Sasdam household burnt to the ground by the end of the war, they were unfaithful and had no loyalty to any side and made more enemies than friends. Unlucky for them, their castle was in the center of the battleground.

Lestrade smirked as he watched Caroline speak to the teacher with such authority that she may be the daughter of a lord rather than some coarse knight. Well, a knight now captain of the King’s guard.

“You love your daughters very much, Ser Lestrade?” The ginger King asked as he adjusted in his plush seat, staring at the second daughter, this one had deep brown hair while the younger one had a pale mousey brown.

“More than my own life, my grace, “the knight answered that question quickly and surely. Of course he loved them, they were his own blood, and soon to be all that was left. His own brother was still in the jails of an opponent house. His father was sick in bed and his mother had died years ago due to the fever. His uncles all perished in battle. Cousins were about, but not truly of his blood, only his mother’s.

“Then I expect you to keep fighting for this city and for all those who see bravery in the knights. Scarce there are any honorable knights left. All the guards seem to be sellswords and craven. They are easily fooled by my brother and even worse by Moriarty. I do not wish to see you end up in a prison or working for our common cause with the missionaries.” The King addressed warmly, one leg crossing over the other as he studied the knight before him.

“I wish for you to join my council, Lestrade. My brother and Moriarty seem to be detached from the common people, you are loved by them. Please. I will be sure to give your daughters the finest education and the most worthy matches for their weddings. When they come of age for such a thing as marriage of course.” He offered a smile as the finishing blow. “Please, I wish to see you at my table, Ser Lestrade.”

Gregory of course nodded as fast as he could. “It would be my honor, my grace!” He said all too loudly, causing some children to giggle and Jocelyn to stare with amusement.

“I mean, of course, my grace. I would be honored to be seated beside you.” He bowed and turned, heading straight out the doors. A flush of color was slowly filling his face and he made sure both his daughters didn’t make eye contact with him as he briskly strode to the stone pavilion outside the castle doors.

There he took off his plain helmet and held it under his arm. A thin layer of sweat covered his brow and had flattened his hair as well.

Walking to the tower where he was allowed to reside in, Gregory passed by the yard where the newer knights were training, or rather, the squires were training to be knights. His own squire, a boy by the name of Dimmock was training as well. He was a nice kid with a lot of ambition to become a knight. He still rushed into things and thought too obviously in battle so it would take time and practice.

“Stick ‘em with the pointy part and keep on doin’ it till they fall on down.” Gregory smirked to himself to the motto of his brother.  His brother was locked far away with Lord Mandrake and there was no way to even come in contact with him. Every raven Gregory send gets shot down and returned with a hawk carrying its bones. Tensions were rising between the lesser houses.

Once in his room, he shooed the servants away as so he could undress. His armor was strapped on tightly and he sighed as he was forced to call back his servants to help with the heavier parts of the armor.

Once undressed, he put his armor to the side, knowing a servant would clean it later in the night. Under the armor was the leather protection and Gregory pulled that off as well. Soon he was dressed like a common man of the City and could explore without his duties getting in the way.

Heading out, he reached for the knight badge he always had in his pocket. Usually used as a broach, he found it not in the pocket of his garbs. Swirling around, his brown eyes met pale blue...Blue eyes that stacked far above his own height.

“Hello, Captain.”

The younger Holmes was holding the emblem of the Captain, rolling it through his fingers with a slight hint of appeasement and then quickly to boredom. He pocketed it and then leaned on the wall beside the other.

“Hey! Give that- My grace, please return that badge. “Gregory caught himself; this was the Hand of the King. He spoke for the King and was the King’s very own younger brother. He was queer, and not many felt love for this Holmes, but still.

“I will return the badge, but first I will need a favor from you, Ser Lestrade.” The curled hair was messed from god knows what.

Sherlock Holmes was dressed in a purple tunic, a deep color that only matched his dark black curls. His neck was free from jewelry of any kind, but he always did keep a sharp dagger to his hip. The emblem of the owl was pinned to the purple and staring at Gregory with bright blues. His pants were leather and used for horseback riding. What could the man be up to now?

“Yes, anything, my grace.” Lestrade nodded quickly and his eyes stared hungrily at the others pocket. One week as captain and he had already lost his badge. He could not deal with the embarrassment.

“There is a map charter that I have a need of. He is going to be on Baker Street and past the eatery. There should be a storefront and besides it and upstairs will be the office of John Watson. I require him and no one else. Bring him to the castle and to my quarters.”

“Is that all? Why wouldn’t you ask a squire to do this?”

“Why, Lestrade. The people _love_ you.”

 


	3. The War Room Awaits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tobias Gregson, Mycroft Holmes, and Sherlock Holmes discuss war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No sex this chapter either. Funny, right?  
> ....And. I think there will be sex in the next? Maybe not.
> 
> This was supposed to be a smutty Fanfic. I'm so sorry...
> 
> There will be sex soon. I promise. And it will be good, descriptive, awesome sex. 
> 
> Anyway, enjoy the plot, right, I know. Plot.

 

Tobias

The War Room was rather empty as Mycroft Holmes entered the room. Tobias had been waiting with a goblet in wine it hand. It was a thick blend that didn’t leave much for the mind to wonder about flavors; rather it was corrupting thought with alcohol.

Though, he only drank two mouthfuls and his wit was still with him.

“Ser Gregson.” Mycroft nodded towards the knight, smiling with a tinge of disappointment at the corner of his lips.

“Expecting Lestrade, my grace?” He asked, a hand running through his blonde hair as he nodded his head to one side.

Mycroft only scowled and then sighed, pulling his steel chair back with a scrape to the floors. Servants held their ears and cringed, the King stared angrily at the knight.

“I had ordered you to storm Clay’s castle, Gregson, not to bloody invade his tunnels!” Mycroft shouted at the man, and then wrinkled his nose in disgust. “And Gregory Lestrade’s brother is still captured.” He hissed, eyes targeting the cup of wine. He slapped it to the ground, the red spilling and covering the floor like a thick blood.

Servants scurried quickly and cleaned the mess up, Mycroft paying no mind. Another wine was placed on the table, this one a thinner blend with more flavor than alcohol. No one wanted to see either man fly off the handle and wine was a very good catalyst for tempers.

Tobias was used to this anger, he had a bit of a temper of his own, but this was a king, not a chump at a bar.

“My grace,” the voice dripped with sarcasm, “I only did what was best at the time. If I was to storm the castle-“

“If you were to storm the castle, my reinforcements would have helped you; instead, you had gone through underground tunnels built by Clay himself. My men did not see you and the men you sent were slaughtered. Is that what you consider victory?”

“Well, we got the tunnels to collapse.”

“Yes, right over the men who were still trying to reach you? Clay is still alive and no prisoners were saved. You accomplished little.”

“Oh, so is _this_ what your anger is about? Gregory Lestrade’s brother?” The knight stood, his eyes narrowed. “If it was my brother, you would have let him rot. Let him eat rats for his whole life, but since it’s _Gregory Lestrade_ -“

“I remind you to hold your tongue, Ser Gregson. Speaking to me like that could very well get your head cut off.” Mycroft sat calmly in his place, eyes as cool as water as the blue examined the other. “Gregory is your captain and he is needed in this City as so riots do not start once war is upon us. If we are to keep him happy, he will keep the people of Painesaire happy.”

“Just Painesaire, my grace?” Tobias asked, slowly sitting and pouring another cup of wine.

“I plan to wipe some cities off the map, Ser Gregson. There is treachery being planned in all corners of the kingdom and I don’t take friendly to those who don’t pledge allegiance.”

This was no surprise to Tobias. In the public eye, Mycroft was confident, smiling. He was a shining example of a kind king! Inside the private walls of the castle, Mycroft was known as a man of ice, a man with no emotion and with a love of order…And a strange fixation on Gregory Lestrade.

Reaching for the decorative display of fruit, the blonde popped a few grapes in his mouth, chewing thoughtfully. He stared down at the ornate tiling of the war room floor. The table was covered with stone pieces over a map. Moriarty called it a spider web, Sherlock called Moriarty a spider and then a quarrel ensued.

Mycroft’s own piece was slender and beautiful, the enemies having much thicker pieces in dull colors, to symbolize that they were in fact week. They had fallen to Mycroft once before and they will fall again.

“Where did Lestrade go, Gregson?”

“To do my bidding, brother.” In walked Sherlock Holmes, and Tobias nearly spit out the grapes he just ate.

“The Hand of the King is supposed to go to these meetings, not the king himself,” Mycroft hissed as he spotted his brother. Sherlock Holmes was gifted with the looks, fortunately, Mycroft was gifted with leadership.

Sherlock hadn’t been to any meetings he was told to go to ever since the crown had fallen to Mycroft’s lap. He had no time to fool around with power; he had much more important things to worry about... Or so he’s said.

Standing, Tobias arched a brow, and then smirked at the way Mycroft’s frown turned into a look of neutrality. It was always a battle of wits between the brothers, a battle that made the air so thick that some of the servants cried in fear.

Though, the servants at Mycroft’s disposal on this particular day were well-trained and only bit their knuckles uncomfortably.

“Brother or rather, _My Grace.”_ Sherlock began with the sarcasm and a serving girl politely excused herself from the room.

Tobias watched her hindquarters as she exited.

“I don’t have time to discuss expanding an empire which you can barely handle as it is.” The curly haired brother started once again, sitting flamboyantly on the opposite side of the table, opposite of Mycroft. He put his long legs on the tabletop, knocking chess pieces over without a care to it. “I am only here to ask you a request.”

“And why would I grant it?”

“Because I can free Gregory Lestrade’s brother.”

Silence filled the air and Tobias looked back and forth between the two, then shrugged and reached to the bowl of fruit on the same war table. Mycroft said it represented the fertility of the farmlands, which was all hogwash to Tobias himself. To him, it represented food and Mycroft refused to allow any food which stained to enter the room. Worried about maps and organization, something to the likes of that. So, he was forced to eat like a rabbit would.

He took a plum, which dribbled messily onto his sleeves making Mycroft glare in disgust.

“Get rid of that, Ser Gregson.”

Tobias shrugged and through the plum towards the window where it missed completely and splattered against the wall. He was better with a broadsword than a bow.

Sherlock’s lip twitched up then fell quickly, seeing to it that a maid would clean the mess.

“As I was saying, I can get Ser Lestrade’s brother out and free. Alive too, if I play my cards right.” The younger brother offered the deal so easily, as if it was child’s play.

“And how do you purpose we do that?”

“A feast.”

“This surely has to be a joke.” Gregson coughed up his wine and stared at the black haired brother.

“No. Of course, he will come. You will offer him money and peace. While, our good friend Moira Anderson will invade his lands. He will expect this and put up his guards, but-“Sherlock cut off, glancing out the window where he saw something that no one else could see.

“I will go to deliver the invitation with John Watson. He and I will explore the grounds of the castle, the dungeons, the stables, everything. He will map it out for Ser Anderson who will use the weakness of the others to overpower the castle. Simple, yes?”

“It can’t be that simple, brother.” Mycroft sighed, closing his eyes and shaking his head. “No, not that simple at all. What about the guards? The armor?”

“Can swords do much about fire?” Sherlock asked, tone raising. “Watson and I will light fires in the most appropriate places. While the fires are going, we shall get the prisoners to escape. The fires will also be the sign for Anderson to storm the castle. We will attack from the inside and the outside.”

Mycroft stood, walking around the table, and then he slowly nodded to his brother. “I will want copies of these maps as well, Sherlock. You do not go until I confirm the date. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Brother Dearest.”

Mycroft walked out and left Gregson alone with Sherlock whom looked at the knight with no interest, not even pretending there was any.

“How long have my brother and Gregory Lestrade been fucking, Ser Gregson?”

“So we’re thinking the same thing?”

“It seems to be.” Sherlock shifted his position so he was sitting oddly cross-legged in his seat. “No, no. Mycroft actually cares for this one. He’s trying to gain his approval. His love, even. Why Gregory Lestrade…” He closed his eyes, obviously somewhere far where Tobias couldn’t even try to touch.

“I don’t know. Why are you so interested in John Watson?”

“He saved my life.”

“Why isn’t he knighted?”

“He doesn’t know he saved my life.”

“And you didn’t tell him? You should be showering him in gold, giving him property, fuck even a title.”

“Watch your mouth. You shouldn’t be cursing to a man like me. I’ll chop your head or something dull like that.” Sherlock’s annoyed look didn’t disappear. “John Watson is not a man who swells with honor. He’s a man who would rather watch from the background and continue with normal life.”

“I would have at least liked a whore.”

“I am not sending him a whore!” Sherlock snapped and stood up strolling outside to where Tobias could no longer see.

Standing, he walked outside, where he bumped with a rather tall blonde bloke. He nodded his head to the side, wondering who the man was. He was dressed in plain tunics, no armor, but he was built like a wall.

“Who are-“

“Ser Gregson.” James Moriarty stepped from behind the blonde; his smirk was small, which meant for trouble to anyone in the castle.

“Give me strength, what are you planning?”

“Me? Planning? Oh no no. This here is my new…..What is it you can do again?” James asked the blonde, eyes looking up as if signaling a script given prior.

“I’m Sebastian Moran. James Moriarty’s new squire.” The man had a deep accent, and Tobias had a feeling that he could barely speak the language under Mycroft’s lands.

“Well, you better get yourself some armor before someone pokes a hole in you.” He bowed to Moriarty, though, he was his equal. “James, don’t get him lost.”

“He won’t be lost. He’ll be right at my hip and bosom, like a newborn.”

Tobias knew those words had some other meaning, but he didn’t really want t delve into that. Instead, he turned and walked down the corridor, walked past where the children played and he stared outside the window. A girl was making a scene in the training yards, it being Gregory Lestrade’s very own daughter. How ironic. That man and his business seemed to be popping everywhere.

She had wanted to wrestle with the other boys, but when not allowed, it appears she tackled a trainer to the ground. She was being pulled off, the girl biting and trying to tear herself back and away.

The trainer was pulling out a knife.

Tobias suddenly stood up straight, turned, and bolted to the door.

The courtyard was silent as the man approached the girl with the knife; she was not crying or apologizing. Instead, she only snorted and lifted her chin up with something that a child could muster to be called honor.  

Tobias did not get to the yard in time.

The girl was sitting on the floor, her brown hair in tassels around her and she only looked down in scorn.

Stanley Hopkins, one of Sherlock Holmes favorite knights had caught the hair off his commander’s daughter’s hair.

“If you want to act like a boy, you have to look like one.”

Tobias watched as the man walked around the girl, picking up a sword and handing it to her.

“Picking the life of a knife will be no easy-“

The man was caught off as a squire shouted at him, “You can’t! She’s a girl!”

“And that makes her less human than you?” Stanley asked his face steel and cool to the men around who did not agree.

Tobias smirked, and then looked at the crowd. All faces were filled with emotion, but the one with the most disdain came from the girl’s sister herself.

“Jocelyn! Just wait till I tell father about this!” She yelled, storming away, cheeks bright pink.

The girl with the sword didn’t react, the smile on her face was too deafening. 


	4. Hidden Motives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> James isn't as bad as he seems,  
> Sebastian isn't as good as he seems.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I was gone for so long, but good news! I lost 10 pounds.
> 
> Bad news! No smut.
> 
> I'm so sorry.. I'm really sorry. 
> 
> Please forgive me. I have a plan for sex.  
> Soon.  
> Soon..  
> Soon.

James

Night ended too quickly for Moriarty’s taste. His foreign lover was in the bed beside him, snoring in the most charming way. James sat up; running a hand over the man’s back, letting his fingertips run over the scars from whips and battles, and whatever else he had faced in his life in the country in striped cats. Eyebrows arching up, he listened as the man mumbled something in a completely different language, but then his voice was stilled and his breathing was back to being soft.

The sun was just peaking over the city’s walls and the calls of roosters were waking the many lords and ladies that resided in the castle. He stretched, pulling a muscle and cursing as he worked to knot the hurt shoulder out. The smell of bread was filling the air and making James nauseous.

Standing now, the small man walked to his wardrobe, picking out an elaborate outfit for himself. A soft shirt with blue dye and gold trimming on the edges, the pants he wore were a bit less ornate, but were of fine quality. He pulled on his smallclothes and then pulled on his clothing, tying up his breeches as Sebastian woke up.

The man could have been awake for minutes, but James wouldn’t have known, the man rarely spoke.

Smiling, the brunette approached the blonde, rubbing down his neck like one would do to a horse. A man who couldn’t speak regular tongue was barely more than a pet, everyone thought so.

Sebastian only cupped James’ face, kissing his brow before sitting back with that always stern face.

“Fight?”

“Fight? No. I’m not fighting you.”

Sebastian shook his head, and then started to swing his arm.

“Fight.” He repeated.

Staring at the motion, James finally got it.

“Oh! You mean with a sword.” He nodded to himself before he looked to the blonde. “No, no. I have need for you with me. You are my squire, but I don’t want you facing other men, especially trained men.”

Sebastian seemed to blister at that, anger wrinkling his features.

“Not child, James. You small. You child.”

James slapped the other, a whip-like noise coming off the skin. “You’re not a free man. Watch your tongue. You can barely use it, so why keep it? Want me to cut it off and hang it around your neck?

Sebastian didn’t understand half the words, but he instantly stiffened and nodded. He would behave.

James sighed, relief coming across him. If he was to let the man fight, he would risk losing a bedside companion, and sex was something that James needed. After dealing with Sherlock day after day, and watching Mycroft rape Lestrade with his eyes every meeting, James needed a release. A release before he started his plans.

Walking to the looking glass, he saw Sebastian in the background, pulling on his breeches and pulling on his regular clothing.

“You will fight soon.” He promised the blonde, looking at him from the mirror.

Sebastian did not smile, he only nodded.

A pity, a smile on his stern face would make him so much prettier. Light his blue eyes up, those stunning eyes that make James drown every night. Sighing, he waited for the other before going to the Dining Hall to break his fast.

A great way to start the day was with Sherlock Fucking Holmes.

The man sat not across from him, but next to him, examining his every move, every bite.

“Why, you missed the council meeting yesterday. “ Sherlock began as James was given his poached eggs.

“A pity, I do love hearing of war, but really, boring. Why should I care who wins what, what Daddy Mycroft is willing to give, I-“

“Ah, you speak about your king with such love. Your tongue is filled with charm and wit, isn’t it?

“You tell me, sweetie. You’re the one watching it wag around.”

James didn’t have time for this banter; he had banks to plead to, and good men to rob from. Unfortunately, the morning course of food would be large this particular day.

“War is all about money, Moriarty. Were you too busy plotting against the kingdom, or did you by chance happen to do some good.”

“Neither.” James answered, singing the word at the man.

“I was by the docks, some lovely singers were making use of their fingers, and you know just how much I hate letting good talent go to wasted ears.” James chuckled, and then placed his cup of morning ale down on the table. “I was told you were late.”

“And I was told that you’ve been walking around with some foreign man.”

James didn’t let an expression of anger come over his face, no, he was better than that. He let the hate fill him; he’d use it at a later time.

“He’s my lover.”

Sherlock didn’t let shock show on his face; instead he just made a noise of realization.

“And soon John Watson will be yours.” James finished.

James was soon covered in ale, Sherlock standing and throwing the rest of the cup to the floor. “You think you can crawl around this kingdom, all your little webs be strung about? They will wither and burn once you’re gone.”

“And how exactly do you manage to do that?”

“Why, Moriarty, I’m the King’s Hand. I speak with his voice, and as soon as I bellow the command, you’ll be thrown into the darkest cell I can find, tortured until you’re old and gray.”

James looked around, feigning shock. “I can see the light! I’m surrounded by woman, wine, ale, and food. If this is torture, may I be tortured to death.” He stood, eggs hardly eaten. “You mean to threaten me? You’re as empty winded as Irene Adler.” He turned, nodding to Sebastian whom was at the servants table. It was time to take their leave, and for Jim to get a new shirt.

“Everyone falls, James. Even spiders.” He stepped back and right into Lestrade’s oldest.

The girl was beautiful, with large almond brown eyes and dark brown hair that was pinned up in decorations and pearls. She wore such a lovely face, it was a shame her personality was following her mother’s.  “My apologies, my lord.”

James had to keep from gagging. The girl was practically spreading her legs with her voice. Such a whore that one and the younger was so amusing. A shame.

Nodding to the courtyard, he met with his tall lover. There he handed him a dagger. “You can start to train with this.”

Sebastian looked at the little thing with disdain, before throwing it to the floor, the point in the dirt. “No. Bigger.”

“Come now.” James, whom was covered in wine, bent down and picked the little knife up, handing it to the blonde again. “An assassin weapon is still a weapon.”

Grunting, the man took the knife and slipped it into his belt so it was hugging his hip.

“There’s a boy. Now, we should be giving a visit to Mycroft, I’m sure he’s worried about his funds and all the gold in the vault.”

Sebastian nodded, walking beside the man, occasionally staring off into the markets and looking about the roads.

“We travel?” He asked soft.

“Travel?”

“Explore?”

“Ah, you want to see the city? Another day, love. We have business.” He walked to the larger castle, waiting to be let in by guards.

Once in, James was nearly face to face with a shallow faced knight. Anderson was his name, a man who followed orders from men who only _he_ thought were able to command.

“Ser Anderson, shouldn’t you be preparing an attack of some kind?”

“How would _you_ know anything about that?”

“We do live in the same kingdom you know, not all that difficult to put an ear to the door.”He smiled sweetly at the knight, almost like he pitied him.

“Who is this? Your new cupbearer?”

James looked at Moran, nodding to indicate him to say his line, the one they went over again and again.

“I’m Sebastian Moran. James Moriarty’s new squire.”

“Can you even fight?” This insult was directed at James, whom had never lifted anything larger than a dagger in order to clean his teeth.

“No, but, nor can you.”

This left Anderson fuming as they continued to the throne room, once inside, he noticed that Mycroft wasn’t in his seat, instead, he was fussing over Gregory Lestrade’s youngest daughter, an annoyed look in his face and his arm swinging.

The girl looked much like Lestrade, a grin on her face…and a sword at hip. Interesting.

Knocking over a glass, Moriarty coughed, trying to get the attention of the King.

“My grace, let the child play, gender has no matter during war.”

Mycroft straightened up, not a color of shame on his face. “Yes, hello Moriarty. “ He moved to sit down, the girl scampering away. “You had missed out yesterday.”

“A shame. I’m sure Sherlock solved the problems well enough.”

“My brother has a mind for strategy, unfortunately, not for coin.”

“And that’s why you have me, is it not?”

“Exactly why.”

The King walked to a scribe, taking the papers from his hand and walking back to his seat. “You’ve paid back four debts as well as added quite a bit to our vault. How is it that you do this? And so quickly.”

“A man with coin is King, my grace. And I am considered a king in my line of work. I only fix taxes and take what is owed to you, My Grace.”

Somewhere behind himself, James felt Sebastian twitch, maybe in boredom. Turning his head to the side, he watched the blonde against the wall, watched him stare at the King with cool blue eyes.

A mistake.

“Get down!” Moriarty shouted at Mycroft, running towards him as a dagger was thrown right over their heads.

Sebastian stood cool; not even a hair out of place, but the dagger had the seal of Moriarty on it.

Mycroft, who was under James and was on the floor, pushed the man off. He plucked the dagger out of the chair, staring at the seal. “This is your dagger, my Lord.”

“I swear to you, I did not throw it.”

“Pray tell who did.”

James looked about the room, and then stood straight. “I was in front of you, eyes on you.”

“Yes, eyes on me. Though, a man of you-“

Sebastian walked forwards, a woman in his arms. He threw her to the floor.

“Molly Hooper.” Mycroft said the name is a hiss, walking to the girl. She was crying and pleading by the time he reached her.

“My grace! Please! Please! It was not me! I was only in the kitchen, I was cooking with the-“

A knight came forward and took her up by the shoulder. “What shall we do with her, you Grace?”

Mycroft stared at Moriarty, who was just as puzzled as the rest, well, not as to who the attacker was, but why.

“Nothing.” He sighed, waving his hand. “It could not have been her. She is as harmless as a dove. Moriarty has no motive.” He shrunk back to his chair, the disturbance behind them.

Moriarty just blinked, before turning back to his King.

“We shall be placing the new founded funds towards the naval docks. We would do well with more ships and less magic. That will be all.” He turned his attention to the dagger in his hand. “I have never seen you with a dagger.”

“No, that was meant to be a wedding gift.”

“To who?”

“Why, to the nearly engaged Sherlock. Really, you couldn’t have found a better match for Ser Lestrade’s eldest!”

 


End file.
